


In this State of Blind Confusion

by Echinoderma



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echinoderma/pseuds/Echinoderma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His fingers trail along Soren’s spine until he feels a little of the tension dissipate, a bit of slack returning to stiff limbs. “It’s cute.” </p><p>“Hmm?” Soren’s face is tucked against his neck, but Ike can hear him well enough. </p><p>“The noise you make. I just- I think it’s cute.” </p><p>“… Do you really think so?” </p><p>The flush returns to Ike’s cheeks with renewed intensity. “How could I not?”<br/>---------</p><p>disgustingly self indulgent fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	In this State of Blind Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> i was craving the Extremely Gay Ikesorens so i produced.

 

Soren's room is dim, lit only by two candles flickering on the desk and the ambient glow of moonlight from the window. Ike sits cross-legged on the bed, clad only in a loose pair of linen pants, and watches Soren’s silhouette; the tiny, precise movements of his hand and the occasional hum of discontent as he stops to rub at his eyes.

It’s a warm night. Quiet, save for the crickets, and the scratch of quill on paper. The open window lets in the much needed breeze, lest the air grow stagnant, humid.

_(He fancies himself Soren’s keeper, at times like these, someone who makes sure he eats a few bites of his meal and manages an adequate amount of sleep. Should he leave him to his own devices on such a night, he might work himself ‘till the light of dawn, and spend the rest of the day in a tired, irritable haze.)_

Almost an hour ago, it must have been, when he had said he was “almost done.” Ike thinks he might be able to accomplish two things with one action, tonight.

"Soren," He says, "... Can I try something?"

"Hmm?"

Ike rises from the bed, steps behind and reaches, tentative and slow, lightly brushing the crown of Soren's head. "Can I?"

They've had a busy summer, and Soren is loathe to take a break from the mountain of work before him. Preparations for the coming winter, made months in advance to stave off any possible disasters. He plans reserves for any unforeseen scenarios: weapons, clothes, food, and so on, so forth-

But he stops writing, lowering his quill. After all, no amount of self-discipline could deny the gentle tones of Ike's voice.

The hands don't leave, trailing along his hairline and pulling bangs back behind his ears. "What is it?"

“Nothing bad, I promise. Just something I’ve been wondering about.” A gentle pressure at his temples, where Ike’s fingers press into the thin skin, little circles drawn under the calloused pads of his fingers. "Try and relax.”

He does, despite his reservations. Soren leans back in the chair, shoulders slumped and breathing slowed, eyes fluttering shut in long, languid blinks. “Is there a- point to this?”

Ike hums quietly at the slight hitch of Soren’s breath. “Does it feel good?”

“Ike-”

“How about this?” He tilts Soren’s head upwards, massages the soft skin at his throat and thumbs the line of his jaw. Ike leans down to see the tip of his tongue dart out before he swallows, one of Soren’s hands poised to grasp his own.

His lips are pale and slightly parted and so, so close. Ike finds it hard to stare at anything else.

“Well?”

Soren mumbles, almost inaudible, and lets his head loll to the side, leaning back further against Ike’s chest. It’s encouraging, he hopes, in the absence of his words.

_(his grip loosens into nothing, and he drops the quill to the floor, ink spotting along the ground. Neither of them notice, their attentions drawn to each other with an immovable, magnetic force.)_

He laughs, warm and heavy with fondness, an indulgent sound. “That means ‘yes’, I’m guessing.”

Ike pauses his hands, just to see what will happen, and melts at the tiny whine that sounds in Soren’s throat. He even opens his eyes the barest amount, irises a dark and velvet red in the waning candlelight.

A pale hand catches his forearm in an instant, the slight points of Soren’s nails leaving indents against his skin. Were Ike not inches from Soren’s face, he never would have heard the softly-spoken plea.

“Don’t stop.”

Chuckling, he resumes, applying a bit more pressure and letting his nails scratch lightly along the other’s throat until Soren arches, breathless and languid in Ike’s grasp.

_(It does mean yes, it does, it does-)_

Ike brushes his lips along the mark of scarlet along Soren’s brow, attuned to the shift of skin and muscle under his touch-

_(And... there.)_

(Most of the time Soren’s tells are minor, miniscule little things. A quirk of the lips, hands tugging at his bangs, a slight worrying of the lips. Ike keeps track, always watchful when it comes to his tactician, cataloguing his movements and the whirlwind of meaning behind them.

This one is new, relatively speaking. An almost tangible rumble in Soren’s chest, reverberating low in his throat. He’d heard it once before, ages ago in a situation similar, Soren curled against his chest while Ike scratched at the nape of his neck and drew long, trailing lines down his spine. Hand flat on Soren’s back and he could feel it; not a quite a growl or sigh, something more than the slow rasp of his breathing.)

“I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it,” Ike murmurs. He rests a thumb on the pulse point of Soren’s neck, making sure to keep his other hand in motion. It’s louder, this time, the loudest noise in the entire room, rising in volume when Ike runs his fingers along the dip of Soren’s collarbone. “That noise, I mean.”

“Noise?” Soren goes tense and rigid under his hand, the noise ceasing almost as soon as the words leave Ike’s lips. Back straightened, his voice trails off, caught in the shiver that runs through his body.“You mean-”

“It like, um- rubbing a cat’s belly. When they’re all stretched out, you know? They make a sound just like that.” He thinks it’s too dark for Soren to see the flush burning at his cheeks, but he hides his face in the other’s hair just to to be sure. “I wanted to see if you would make it again.”

Soren’s hands are trembling, still wrapped around Ike’s wrist. “I-”

He gives the slightest bit, the shivers subsiding. Anxiety leaves his voice unsettled, small and reedy between his quickening breaths. The apology is automatic. “I’m sorry. It’s not- It’s not really something I think about. Not something I really- do. I didn’t mean to, Ike, I-”

“Soren, stop,” he says, nose against Soren’s scalp. Tenderly, he brushes his knuckles against the other’s jaw, willing him to slip back into that languid state of relaxation. “It’s not bad. I like it.”

“You like it?” he repeats, distantly, flinching slightly at the contact. “Even if it’s something…”

“Something what?”

He draws his legs up, and rests his head against his knees, half-heartedly pulling away from Ike’s touch. He has to strain to hear Soren’s words, quiet and muffled by his bedclothes. “Even if it’s something inhuman?”

“... Soren. You know I don’t care about that.” Ike straightens, hand still resting lightly on Soren’s shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with it, okay?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Soren blurts, voiced edged with a hint of panic and hands twisted into the thin cloth of his nightshirt. “I hate it.”

The silence stretches, vast in the darkened room and punctured only by the sounds of their breathing. It feels like hours, though in reality, no more than a minute passes before Ike reaches for one of Soren’s hands, covering it with his own. “Why don’t you come to bed?”

Wordlessly, he grasps at Ike’s hand, uncurling himself and slipping out of the chair. Ike can sense the hesitation, the skittishness that creeps into Soren’s every move, remnants from a less than pleasant childhood.

He pulls him close to his chest when they lay down, drawing the covers high, one arm pressed against his back to reassure him.

_(Even in the heights of summer, Soren always slept swathed in blankets, barely visible on even the hottest nights. He had gone silent when Ike had mentioned it, fidgeting with his hair- a sign of nervousness, he’d recognized. It was much later, after a sleepless night in the open fields, that he had told Ike he felt safer being hidden, even by something so flimsy as fabric.)_

His fingers trail along Soren’s spine until he feels a little of the tension dissipate, a bit of slack returning to stiff limbs. “It’s cute.”

“Hmm?” Soren’s face is tucked against his neck, but Ike can hear him well enough.

“The noise you make. I just- I think it’s cute.”

“… Do you really think so?”

The flush returns to Ike’s cheeks with renewed intensity. “How could I not?”

_(A pressure in his chest, a pang of heartache at the other’s small and timid voice.)_

Soren doesn’t respond, arms drawn to his chest and face hidden in shadows. Slowly, Ike moves his hand upward, tangling it in the mess of obsidian hair, palm pressed to Soren’s scalp- in his mind’s eye, he can imagine the faint green hue that would shimmer along the strands had they both been in the light. “Is it okay if I want to hear it again?”

_(Always slowly, in these pockets of intimacy between them. A wide berth for Soren to retreat, should he find himself too pressured to receive Ike’s affection.)_

It takes a while for Soren to respond, exhaustion catching up with him in the absence of any distraction. A long, deep breath prefaces his words. “If you ask... I will comply, Ike.”

“It sounds like I just gave you an order,” he laughs. “But I would, if you don’t mind.”

He thinks Soren might have fallen asleep in the time it takes for him to speak, but the quiet rumble returns to his chest after a short spell of silence. Ike feels, rather than hears, the fluttering whir, a vibration that spreads to Soren’s throat, almost down to his fingertips.

Drowsiness settles over him; he almost doesn’t register when Soren speaks to him again.

“Purring.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the- term for it. A sign of contentment in various species.” Even half-asleep, Ike can hear the tiny thread of anxiety that always runs through Soren’s voice. “I came across it during some... research.”

It’s late, and with Soren settled against him and the warmth of summer around them, Ike can’t fight the yawn that rises in his throat. He’s glad for this trust between them, giving a little hum of acknowledgement, and using the last of his conscious effort to move his fingers against the back of Soren’s head, the best gesture of reassurance he can offer on the verge of sleep. “So… it’s a good thing, right? You’re content?”

It’s the last thing he hears, before he finally drifts off, the two of them so close Ike can feel Soren's lips move against his neck. “Of course.” 

**Author's Note:**

> im meltinf


End file.
